


I Hate to See Your Heart Break

by toothbrushstyles (tiesthatbind)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Tour Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiesthatbind/pseuds/toothbrushstyles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Louis gets sad he shuts himself in dark, silent rooms. When Louis gets sad Harry just wants to make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hate to See Your Heart Break

**Author's Note:**

> → Title is the name of a song by Paramore.  
> I wrote this for a number of reasons. Firstly, I was feeling extremely sappy when I started it. Secondly, I've never written in present tense before so wanted to give it a go. Thirdly, I'm experiencing major writer's block on another story. So. Hope you like it! (Also, there's no specific timing of when this is set but in my head it's the present - June 2013) // Tumblr: [stylinsonsx](http://stylinsonsx.tumblr.com)

-

Harry returns to the hotel in the mid-afternoon, the sun still burning through the Los Angeles sky, and it takes him three attempts with the key card to unlock the door. When he pushes it open the room is dim – curtains drawn, lights and television off. The air conditioning is not on. 

He walks to the foot of the bed and waits for the click of the lock before he speaks, “I told you to text me if you needed me.”

Louis doesn’t reply, just curls in on himself more beneath the covers and groans a little. Harry strips to his boxers and crawls in next to him, wrapping his limbs around Louis’ smaller frame. He’s warm and clammy, like he’s been there for hours without getting up. Harry rests his nose in Louis’ hair and breathes him in for a few minutes. When he speaks again it’s barely above a whisper, “why didn’t you call?”

Harry doesn’t need to ask what’s wrong. There are tell-tale signs Louis shows that he doesn’t think Harry notices. He seems to only be able to flick a switch between distant and hyperactive, not hitting any mood between the two. This will happen for a few days before Harry finds him alone in a dark room, when it gets to be too much and he misses home a bit more than usual and these kinds of situations, while not frequent, aren’t exactly infrequent either.

“You were busy,” Louis comes back with. Harry runs a few fingers through Louis’ hair and sighs, because this is how this conversation goes every time. 

“I was in a meeting. It was routine, not even important. I could have left,” Harry knows that Louis knows this, he made sure to make it clear when he’d left that morning, but he doesn’t have it in him to get angry or upset with him. He’s seen Louis like this more times than he wishes to count. Perhaps it could be described as frequent. 

Harry pushes himself back so he can get a proper look at Louis’ face. He keeps a hand in Louis’ hair and massages gently. The tears are dry now but it’s obvious he spent a long period of time crying. Louis looks straight across at him as Harry’s eyes take in as much as they can. Louis used to close his and look down, trying to hide, but that stopped a while ago. When he realised that hiding it just made it more difficult for both of them.

Harry pulls himself closer to Louis again, still looking at him but their chests are pressed together and their legs tangled. Louis’ hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat and he sniffs, cutting through the silence, and rubs his nose with the back of his hand. Then he leans across and pecks Harry’s lips, which Harry knows to be his way of saying “I’m okay now that you’re here,” because that’s what always used to accompany it. Harry knows that he’s not okay, not really, but he feels a little less homesick and a little less like he’d rather stay in bed than play the show they have scheduled for tonight. 

Harry contemplates what he’ll say next, running his hand up and down Louis’ side, before, without breaking eye contact, he tilts his head and decides on, “what kind of wedding do you want us to have?”

Louis doesn’t miss a beat, “I swear to God if you propose to me right now I will say no,” and he smiles; it’s small but genuine and it’s a start. 

Harry laughs lowly in response, “I’m not going to propose to you now.”

Louis rolls onto his back, Harry’s hand resting on his stomach now. He looks like he wants to say something but can’t figure out what order to put the words in. Harry doesn’t push him, instead focusing on his fingers running through the short, coarse hair on Louis’ lower abdomen. After a while it becomes clear that Louis isn’t going say what he was thinking about, and Harry knows better than to force it out, so he continues.

“I do want that, though,” he pauses, appreciating the slight upward curve of Louis’ lips. He’s told him this so many times before but he knows Louis never tires of hearing Harry’s _romantic monologues about the future_ , as Louis has titled them, “I want all of it, Lou, marriage, kids, the whole shebang. You know I’d make a great housewife.”

He looks back across at Harry with that wild smirk of mischief, “you already do make a great housewife,” and it’s the sarcasm without being bitter that let’s Harry know Louis is on his way back. The _“I want that, too”_ is left unsaid, but Harry knows it’s there, somewhere, and Louis will say it back eventually. He has a habit of impeccable timing when it comes to being sentimental, he’ll choose his moments with precision - unlike Harry’s use of it as an everyday topic of conversation. 

Harry notices the time on the clock on Louis’ bedside table and kisses his forehead, pulling the covers off of them both, “come on, we need to shower before tonight.”

They shower together, peppering each other’s bodies with kisses. It’s completely innocent, for once, and when they’ve finished washing each other and are both standing in the bathroom with towels secured around their waists, Harry gently presses Louis against the wall and kisses him long and slow until they’re breathless. Harry pecks Louis’ neck just below his ear and whispers, “I love you,” into his skin. Louis lifts his hand from Harry’s waist and threads it through his hair, dragging out the silence until he returns, “I love you, too.” When Harry pulls back he recognises the softness in Louis’ eyes, the shy version of his smile, and he's hit with a slight sense of relief.

He’ll be okay by tomorrow, Harry thinks. Until next time.


End file.
